Holidays in Another Country: a reflection on loss and change

On March 31 we shared an Easter meal with other English-speaking immigrants. We enjoyed a beautiful day, fabulous food, and the company of interesting and good people. There were custom-embroidered Beatrix Potter bunny napkins. We even had an egg hunt with prizes.

But it was not like home. Nope.

We all grow up with cultural traditions and family practices to celebrate birthdays, anniversaries, and holidays. Mostly we gather with relatives and over-eat heaps of food. Dinner is served on special plates and the nicest tablecloths.  The same goofy gift is given to a different person every year. Grandma tells stories that become family lore. Grandpa teases the little kids until they squeal and run in circles. Older kids play board games or cards. The men watch sports while the women cook and clean up. The grownups take photos until the kids start making faces.

I miss our own family traditions.

Would I miss them as much if we were still living in the US?

When Tim and I created our own family, we built some traditions of our own: cutting a “Charlie Brown” tree from the forest; stockings on the kids’ beds Christmas morning; turkey barbequed outside even in the worst of weather. Our favorite was The Treasure Hunt. Tim wrote clues on squares of paper to lead our kids to each spot, where another clue was waiting. Deciphering one clue after another, they finally reached the pot of gold:  a special gift for each of them. The process could take an hour or more. It was delightful.

3 generations and almost 5 decades of memories on the wall above my desk.

We cannot replicate what we had then. Holidays are different with one’s adult children and grandchildren because they build their own traditions.

Is this nostalgia that I am feeling just a normal part of aging -- reviewing treasured memories and yearning for a past that cannot be revisited?

Perhaps this feeling of saudade*  is stronger now since Tim and I have let go of so much that was familiar to us during the process of our relocation.  We shed decades of stuff, memorabilia, and a home we built mostly with our own hands.  We released many comforting anchors that connected us to what is dear to us.  

Holidays here remind us that we traded comfort and familiarity to live in a country at peace, to travel, and to avoid sliding into a rut of complacency. The demands of adjustment keep us engaged and out of any ruts!  And we are certainly in the company of brave, interesting, and adventurous persons.

This year we shared Easter dinner with over a dozen people from 23 to 76 years of age, including:

• an Irish woman who retired in Portugal after living in Switzerland

• two immigrants from Brazil

• a pair of Camino walkers (on break from a 300-mile pilgrimage)

• several American Black women

• a same-sex couple

• a screenplay writer

• a mixed Black Asian woman

• a retired sommelier, a retired urban planner, two retired military persons

Well, we might not be living the old “traditional” American life, but with such friends, it will be our own fault if we are ever bored!

Your thoughts?

Which words describe how you might feel during holidays while living in another country (or far from your family)?

• challenging/hard/scary

• tender/vulnerable/uncertain

• melancholy/nostalgic

• fun/exciting/adventurous

• awkward/uncertain/confused

• relief/simplified

• lonely/alone

• sad/depressed

• other
  

We would love to hear your thoughts.

If you leave a comment, please give us your name so we know who to respond to. Or email us directly at: penelopeeicher [you-know-what] gmail. Let us know if you want a chat. We can call you for free.

Until we see you again, Fica bem. Stay well. Love from

Tim and Penelope

*Saudade:

a uniquely Portuguese experience described as an emotional state of melancholic longing or profoundly nostalgic longing for a beloved yet absent something or someone. Learn more here and here.

And just for the sake of beauty

A few wildflowers from today's morning walk. Rosie garlic. Golden marguerite. Red poppy. And a naturalized field of rosie garlic.